Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
and was lean and fit. Two and a half hours later, Ad sped into the courtyard looking fresh
as a daisy followed by our wilted friend.
'Phew, my arse hurts,' said John as he climbed delicately off the bike. 'He's a bionic man.
We rode all the way to Bergerac then back the other way, all the way to Sainte-Foy-la-
Grande. He didn't stop, not once.' John was almost weeping as he limped into the kitchen
rubbing his rump. 'I need a glass of your restorative sauvignon blanc.'
I saw Ad whistling as he wandered down to the campervan full of the joys of late summer,
looking like he had spent the afternoon in the hammock. The name 'bionic man' stuck. John
recovered remarkably quickly but didn't make the mistake of going for another bike ride.
The red grapes were still not ready to be picked. John cursed his misfortune. He wasn't
even going to experience real 'farming for the rich'. Instead we spent our days picking the
fruit that was falling off the fig trees and made countless jars of jam. John had to leave soon
after another friend, Bullet, arrived. Ad invited Bullet on a cycle ride, and Bullet agreed,
having received no insider information from John.
'How was it?' I asked when he returned.
'Ah, not too bad, not too bad,' he said, disappearing indoors. A few moments later I heard
loud snoring from his room. That evening he appeared with a cushion for his chair.
'I think Bullet needs to lose a little bit of weight then he would take on the hills no prob-
lem,'Adconfided.EachharvestvisitorwasgiventheonceoverbyAd,ourresident person-
al trainer. Fortunately I had not been on the tour of torment: heaven knows what Ad would
have said about me. I pictured the scene, Ad saying confidentially to Sean, 'You know, if
Caro lost a few kilos she'd be able to cycle down the hill to Gardonne.'
With the red grapes still firmly on the vines we welcomed Kerry and Anne Guy, friends
of friends from New Zealand, to Haut Garrigue. They had five acres of vines and a beau-
tiful guest house, The Point Lodge, which nestled between their vines and the sea near the
Bay of Plenty. Kerry was a mile a minute and a font of information. Early in the morning
I'd see him walking the vineyards, then he would arrive back with succinct advice about
something he had seen; later he would pick walnuts from our trees and a gift of half a wal-
nut cake would appear. He was the chef at their lodge.
'He talks so much,' said Ad after Kerry had been giving us advice on labels and marketing
of wine. 'How can someone know so much about so many things?'
The next morning Kerry wandered into the workshop to look at the custom-built plough
Ad was creating for Sean. A few hours later Ad came in for lunch.
